Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 78142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
I beat on the drum with the sticks, enjoying the sharp sound.
Dad crouches down and looks into my eyes. “You have to take care of your drum, Dragon. This is an actual musical instrument, and I know you’re young, but I want you to have it.”
“Thanks, Daddy.” I continue beating on the drum.
“Dragon.”
I look up, still playing.
He grabs my hands mid-beat. “I’m serious. This isn’t just a toy. I want you to have fun with it, but it’s an actual musical instrument that you need to take care of. Now, I’m going to help you because you’re so young. I’ll show you how to take care of it, and then, as you get older, I’m going to expect you to do it.”
I nod vigorously. “Okay, Daddy. I promise I’ll take good care of it.”
“And there’s one other thing,” Dad says.
“What’s that?”
“You can only play it in the garage.”
I frown. “Why, Daddy?”
“Because we have a new baby in the house. The drum might wake up Griffin. She needs her sleep, and so does your mom.”
I frown again.
“No frowning, son. I know how much you love your little sister.”
Then I smile. “I do. I love her so much.”
“Then you need to do what’s good for her as well. So we’re going to put your drum in the garage, and you’ll have certain times when you can go out and play it.”
“Okay, Daddy.” I smile again.
Because the first time I laid eyes on that little baby, I knew I would do anything for her.
Even if it means playing my drum in the garage.
It didn’t take me long to unpack. I stay in the bedroom Diana assigned. It feels weird to leave, walk around a place that isn’t mine. Part of me feels like I’m back in my room in rehab, not sure what to do next.
Except I don’t have activities or therapy to go to during the day. They keep us on a strict schedule in rehab to keep our minds busy so we won’t think about drugs or alcohol.
Of course, all we think about is drugs and alcohol.
That’s the life of an addict. It’s always there in the back of my mind. I can leave it there, but I’ll never forget about it. It’s like a shadow lurking in a dark alley, ready to resurface at the slightest provocation.
Luckily, I’m not easily provoked. But it’s still there, haunting me, sometimes even jeering at me.
What also jeers at me is the fact that Jesse and Brianna helped pay for my rehab stay. They said I didn’t have to pay them back, but I will. Somehow I’ll find a way.
I stayed there for six months. It didn’t take long for me to dry out, but I stayed because I needed to take it seriously this time. I couldn’t be half-assed about it like I was last time. No more pot and no more booze.
An addict is an addict, and you can’t allow yourself gateway drugs and still expect to stay sober.
I did it for several years, and I honestly thought I had it figured out.
Until that night in London, after the concert.
The two women, both brunettes—I have no idea what their names are, and I don’t rightfully care—push me down on the bed and then strip their clothes off.
Their tits are pert and bouncy, and I’ve got one huge-assed hard-on.
I’m still high on adrenaline from the concert. Man, we rocked it. All the Emerald Phoenix fans loved us, and lots of groupies stuck around us after the show—including these two.
Jesse took off, so I’m alone in the room with these ladies.
“You got anything to drink in here?” one of them asks in her British accent.
“Should be something in the minifridge,” I say.
She saunters over to the minifridge, opens it, and pulls out some cans of some kind of ale. “This what you mean?”
“Yeah. Help yourself. If we run out, we can have some sent up.”
She takes a can of beer, pops the tab open, and hands it to her friend. Then she pops another one and takes a long drink.
“You want one?” she asks me.
“Sure. Bring it on over.”
She pops the third can and sets it on the nightstand next to the bed. “So you up for some fun?”
“I figured that’s why we’re here,” I say in a slow drawl, which sounds so different from their flirty English accents.
“Then let’s start with getting you undressed.” Lady one climbs on top of me, pulls me into a sitting position, and then she slides my black T-shirt over my head.
She drops her jaw. “God, you’re sexy. Nipple rings.”
Lady two flicks them, licking her lips. “Fuck, yes, they’re sexy. Do they hurt?”
I shake my head.
“Good.” She leans down and slides her lips over one of them.
My nipples are more sensitive than the average man’s, and boy, does that get me going.